


Buildings are Living whether you like it or not

by BunsterKeaton



Category: Batim - Fandom, Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Gen, this is just about norman everyone else is here so he can make fun of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:33:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21796633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BunsterKeaton/pseuds/BunsterKeaton
Summary: Norman has decided today is the day he quits.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	Buildings are Living whether you like it or not

Today was the day he decided. Norman patted his jacket pocket, Inside was a resignation paper.   
  
It wasn’t fancy nor did it really address the reasons why he was leaving. It was the bare minimum. Filled out with slight smudging- it came with the territory of writing with an ink pen and a left hand, after all. 

Of course, for the last three months he’s decided _ ‘today would be the day’ _ . But somehow manages to forget. Or his paper would become misplaced when he took on other tasks.   
But he felt it, today was the end- today was the day for change.

Pressing his palm against the cool wooden panels he remembered something his mother once said.

> _ ‘Buildings are living whether you like it or not. _ ’

Houses arguably, are the most obvious in this. People, Norman reckons, grow attached to things easily. And houses are not excluded.  
The longer you stay the longer you create memories -good or bad-cultivates a personality you see in the once inanimate object.  
Sammy had grown an attachment to specific banjo, for example. It started if- Norman could even recall it correctly; when he had paced  
the floor with a tomato face after being frustrated over god-knows-what and grabbed it out of the hands of it’s player and marched off.

Then every time the man became over-whelmed or- _ whatever _ he’d go for that very banjo.

Wally, seemed to favor a broom himself. Despite having newer and more efficient cleaning tools, this ratty straw broom seemed to be one he loved clutching defensively to his chest especially when being chewed out by everyone’s banjo loving blond. Norman himself has grown attached to his projector. Though the weight sometimes made him feel like Atlas. Not that he’d complain…Too much.

Another tangent. He’d been drifting way too much today.

  
A part of him couldn’t believe he was going to leave this place. This place even if he didn’t care to say it to his coworkers-well he enjoyed his time here, despite the strange goings on.

Usually houses hold good memories. Or at least they’re supposed to. Plus, houses sometimes feels like a body.   
The living room or kitchen being the heart usually-the most memories, the most warmth…   
  
Norman adjusted himself- He now had a question.   
If the impression or personality of most houses usually, are good.   
But what was the personality of the studio?

Sure, sometimes she felt warm, and oftentimes she’s full of life! Other times she’s abuzz with people bumbling through with no sleep and living with only coffee to survive on. And he cannot deny there were good memories.   
He’d miss this place, it’s faces.  Norman chuckled, his eyes following pipes. That must be her veins. It would make sense an animation studio to have ink as its blood, but that made him ask what-or where was her heart? What kept her going? Pumping and thrumming?

Something about this question made him uncomfortable. So he returned to his main question.

What was her personality?  It was obvious she breathed in sighs, the echo of footsteps at night and the creak of the floorboards say as much already. Was it a sad sigh? Or was it hopeful?

Wally would be good at this game, He’s probably say her lungs is the where all the music is recorded. And her personalities a funny one, setting up jokes and events that can only be thought of as slapstick. She has a sense of humor, that is certain. But lately the building itself, her personality or whatever she was has changed.

Perhaps Joey’s office is her brain...

The studio, for how brightly lit it was always had a feeling of something floating over it. Not quite tension but it became more apparent when tension happened. Especially when Joey offered a grunt towards the subject of contention. When he himself became distant eyed.

He thought of his resignation slip, after all Joey’s countenance is one of the main reasons he decided to quit.

Maybe she reflected him the most, after all it is his studio.   
And, for all his charisma and bravado, the eyebags under his eyes and his often-dismissive actions tell Norman more than enough that the man has something haunting him. With the shadows that he cast. Whatever haunts him echoes the hallways of the studio.   
  
Flickering hallway lights. Thrumming pipes. In the darkness it reached for something missing. Constantly there but out of her grasp.   
Whatever Joey feared, the studio feared. Whatever Joey needed. She needed.

It was undeniable, this building is alive.

But how can it be so alive when it felt like it was missing something key?   
  
On the top floor it's not that noticeable. The claustrophobia. But the machine is hot. Heat creates steam. Now—Steam is fine so long as it’s water. But what was thrumming steadily in those pipes…

That isn’t water.

Of course that’s not the point of this thought thread- no. Even though Norman would love to take up the legal violation of breathing ink with someone. Because it has to violate something. Well, more than one thing.    
But… Nobody talks about it, but it isn’t shocking to see figures- shadows. And, If anyone were to follow those figures-which Norman would not recommend- well, it doesn’t make the underbelly of the studio anymore comprehensible.Of course, he’d never admit it to anyone but in whispers to himself he has been seeing the shadows on the upper levels.

Of course, he wasn’t prone to superstition and the likelihood that breathing ink would have …. Hallucinatory effects feels like it should be the answer he-if he didn’t notice a lot of strange on goings.

> Watched.
> 
> Even when he isn’t looking the figures-
> 
> shadows-
> 
> forms-

He can tell when he’s being watched by them.

He knows the feeling well, after all. He’s been on the other side of it.

Even now when he should be all alone. He feels it.

> The pin prick.
> 
> The shiver.

He swallows taking his hand to his chin.

He can at least pretend he’s breathing evenly.

It felt closer, like something was barely reaching him.

And he had to ask; _was that heartbeat his own?_

Closing his eyes the feeling fades.

  
This studio is getting to him, he’s imagining way to many things. He needs to leave. Now… Back onto track- she’s rasping. She breathes in shudders the deeper you get. The steam doesn’t help, it makes you feel heavy almost like a dream-like state. Corridors and hallways feeling like they repeat. A labyrinth with the ‘veins’ of the studio only making pathways more confusing.

What makes it worse is the constant pulsing, _ growing, thrum. _

The vibrations get louder the deeper you delve. The white noise has an affect on you, like whispers.

But there was this heavy sinking feeling that you want to stay-no that the deeper you are _ it  _ wants you to stay.

This studio is missing something important.   
This studio doesn’t want to lose anything else.   
Again something about this line of thought made him uncomfortable, he didn’t want to think hard on it. But he wanted to answer his question.

There have been incidents when him and other people clock out; when leaving the door seemed to jam. There have been crunch days when coworkers just accepted, they weren’t going home for weeks.

That’s when it hit him.

She wasn’t lonely. No…

You don’t pull something deeper inside to stop loneliness.   
  
The animation department can be thought of as rows of teeth with how some desks are lined up.

She was not lonely or mournful.   
  
Down where plans for Bendyland were being made, something to tease you deeper.    
  
The elevator could be thought of as a...

Not she- it, the studio was hungry.

Norman rifled his pocket for his resignation slip. He needed to make sure he had it.

There is a dread every time Norman leaves the studio. And an even bigger dread when he enters.Norman needed out.   
  
The studio was an empty smile-a hungry mouth.   
  
A pipe near by exhaled. Norman tensed. He should be used to it by now. He should be used to a lot of things. It sounded off.    
He’ll have to tell Tom or Wally about it.    
Oh great, ink on him. He didn’t care really but he’d need to wash his hands before he handled the reels. He had  _ a lot _ to take care of anyways.   
  
He looked down at his hand in his jacket pocket.

  
Norman paused, his brow quirked.   
_ What was he searching his pocket for? _

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah the studio vores people


End file.
